


Skittish

by HeathenAlchemist



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:33:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29906694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeathenAlchemist/pseuds/HeathenAlchemist
Summary: A very brief look at an all too common moment along a path as broken as this one.
Relationships: Eskel & Lambert (The Witcher)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	Skittish

**Author's Note:**

> You could read this as pre-slash if you wanted to, I do love me some Lambskel, but that's not the point. The point is that I understand Lambert's PTSD way too clearly and wanted to get some of it out of my head.

A monster was prowling the shadowed edges of the stone room. It was situated deep in the keep, where the warmth of the sun never reached the mountain’s ancient bones. Scents of grief and mold fought for supremacy in the stagnant air and the beast pacing the stone floor sneered at the bitter tastes. What did it matter, after all. 

At least no one else came down this far. 

No one else had to see the monster in their midst. 

_ No one in their right mind would want to see you, even on a good day.  _

The voice came from somewhere just beyond actual hearing. It lingered harshly in the reeking air, caught between a whisper and a growl. It was utterly foreign, yet painfully familiar. 

_ And it hasn’t even been a good day. You fucked up, shit-for-brains. Idiot. Worthless. Couldn’t even get that right. _

The voice faded again to the sound of ragged breathing, driven away by frantic pacing around the stone floor. Near silent pacing. The monster was a hunter, after all, and even in this stone cage it moved with little sound. The next pass brought the monster back by the room’s only door. 

_ Should run right out that door, go find a bigger monster. Solve everyone’s problems.  _

The pacing faltered. 

_ Or bring the whole door down on you. Fucking worthless. Never even leave this cage.  _

The pacing continued. 

The voice remained. It got louder, more vicious with each desperate circuit of the small stone room. It had reached the inevitable conclusion of its cruel tirade. 

_ No one wanted you. Worthless. Left. Taken, and left again. You’re just what they have left, not what they wanted. No one wants you. Fucking worthless. Fucking monster.  _

A small sound clawed its way into the stone room, high and strangled, forced past a too-tight throat. A tiny, broken sound, for such a scream. 

The pacing stopped. 

Shaking like the last dead leaves on a tree caught in an autumn wind, the monster reached out to rest against the wall. The monster blinked. That was an awfully human looking hand for a monster. 

Cascade. 

That same hand reaching out, twisted into strange shapes, flinging fire and will into the air. 

That same hand, slick with blood

That same hand, deftly plucking soft white petals

That same hand, expertly measuring out powders

That same hand, slick with blood

That same hand, wrapped with practiced ease around a sword’s familiar grip

That same hand, slick with blood

Again and again, slick with blood. 

Red, black, reeking, hot, always blood. It was a monster’s hand, wasn’t it? 

Wasn’t he?

_ Aren’t you? _

Freeze. 

The soft whisper stretched, out and out and out winding around the room filling the mortar between the stones and the cracks in the floor and the ceiling until the stone seemed to fade and the room was made of nothing but that whisper and the reverberating question overwritten with countless memories of blood. 

_ Aren’t you? _

Not even the monster noticed the tiny broken sound the second time. 

Nor did the monster notice the passage of time. Had it only been moments? Had an entire night slipped by? He couldn’t tell. He could not pinpoint the exact moment that he became aware of the change in the air. 

There was a scent weaving through the stink of mold and stagnant air, a familiar scent though at first he couldn’t place it.  _ Yes. Know. Familiar. Winter. Keep. Safe……  _

_ Eskel.  _

That name shatters the miasma. Eskel. Capable, competent, strong, understanding Eskel. The monster cringes at the scent but… somewhere within the incoherent snarl, the man reaches for it. 

A soft knock at the door startled them both. 

“Fuck off!” The monster roars, faster on the response after years- decades- of practice. 

The voice on the other side of the stone room’s only door is deep, steady, and patient. 

“It’s only me, Lambert. You didn’t come in for dinner. I was worried.”

“I’m… I’m ok.” the man responds. It’s an uncertain voice, but it’s his. 

For a moment there is no response. Then, “Can I come in?”

The monster roared.  _ No! No one can see!  _ It took a great act of will, but the man held his tongue. Anyone else, no, but this was Eskel. Eskel was safe. He tried, and tried again before eventually forcing the words out. “Y- yes. Come… come in.”

Slowly, the room’s single door ground open. The monster snarled when the Witcher’s scent rose in the room, but the man sighed in relief. Eskel stepped near-silently into the room, caution tempering his movement but honest concern on his face. His voice was quiet, deep and soothing when he spoke. “Figured you’d wanted some quiet but I didn’t want you to miss too many meals…” The older man trailed off, uncertain. 

The monster wanted to snarl and sneer.  _ The fuck does it matter to you. You don’t even want me around at all. You just feel guilty.  _

Eskel’s soothing voice rumbled on, “I miss you, you know, when you’re not there.” The younger man started at the reassurance. It was an unfamiliar sensation. “Hell, I miss you out there, too. Whenever I’m away from you. I… I hope you know that, Lamb. Really I do.”

Silence. The monster was as stunned as the man. He didn’t trust himself to speak, but turned to face the other figure in the gloom of the stone room. He waited. Uncertain. 

The lack of outburst seemed to provide its own reassurance. “It’s true, you know.” Eskel continued, stepping further into the room but stopping short of truly crowding the other man. “Every time I’m away. I… I miss you. I wish… I had a better idea how to help.”

_ Discovered! Found out! He’ll hate you, he’ll despise you! He’ll- _

“You already are.” Lambert wasn’t entirely sure where the will to force those words past his lips had come from, but he was not about to take them back. He felt himself gasp, ever so softly, with the effort. 

Eskel, brilliant, gentle Eskel, seemed to understand. He said nothing. A short movement rippled through his powerful frame as the larger man started to raise his arms but he stopped, unsure. Asking. It was the uncertainty that cut through the monster’s protest as Lambert allowed himself to cross the room- a single stride, really it was a small space after all- directly into Eskel’s hesitantly offered hug. 

For one brief, exquisite moment Lambert let himself relax into that hug, but old patterns have a stronger hold, and in that same moment he’d collected himself again, pulling back and regaining that safe distance. Eskel said nothing, perhaps recognizing the moment for what it was. He only stepped away, angling his larger frame against the open door to create a kind of safe wake for Lambert to follow. 

Bone tired, hungry, and at once too quiet and too loud inside his head, Lambert followed. 

The monster once again quiescent, the two Witchers left the small stone cell behind. 


End file.
